An Accidental Cry
by I'm Saved
Summary: Holmes knew that if he cried out, Watson was as good as dead. So he didn't cry out. On purpose. What if he had ACCIDENTALLY called out because of forces beyond his control? Final chapter uploaded. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Part One- Watson

I read in astonishment the note that my friend, the famous detective Sherlock Holmes, had left for me. It explained that he and Professor Moriarty were to engage in a fight to the finish. It seemed, as the officials who had accompanied me and I myself had reasoned due to the remnants of my friend's fight, that Reichenbach Falls was indeed the final resting place of the Professor. His body would most likely never be found, forever lost in the chasm that had claimed him. But, our reasoning sadly suggested as well, Reichenbach Falls was also the resting place of my dearest friend, the greatest detective that had ever lived.

The officers had moved on while I stayed in place, reading and rereading Holmes' final note. The reality that he was gone was surreal to me. That is, until a shout rang out, the chasm creating echoes of the cry. I looked around me. Nothing was in sight. Curious, I leaned over the edge of the abyss carefully. My eyes finally rested upon the perpetrator of the call. My heart leapt within me.

"Holmes," I whispered, overjoyed and unbelieving at seeing my friend alive. He was dangling from the cliff. I could not fathom the look the look on his face when his eyes met mine. It seemed like an eternity that we were frozen in our positions. Before my sound mind had been reclaimed, I heard the all too familiar sound of a gunshot ringing in my ears. Then I felt the pain. The white hot, merciless pain shot through my side and I collapsed onto the ground. There was a sharp, sudden pain in my head as it collided with the ground and my world went totally black.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two- Holmes

In this particular tale, I must pick up the pen for some parts. It occurred to me soon after Moriarty's fall into the endless abyss that this was exactly the opportunity I needed. Now that the Professor was gone, there would be three very dangerous men that would be obsessed with killing me after they earned that their leader had been killed. They would, of course, blame me for his demise. There really was only one option for me. I must flee England for my life. My ever brilliant mind concocted a plan. I would make it appear that both Moriarty and I had fallen to our deaths, thereby fooling the Scotland Yarders that were to come with Doctor Watson. He would have to be deceived as well. This caused an inkling of regret within me, but I knew very well that it would be necessary in order for me to keep my life intact.

After most of my plan was completed, I lay hidden on a ridge of the chasm after carefully climbing up. My plan had required me to make my way carefully down the ledge, which after some further observation, was not as sheer as it had first appeared. Before going down, I had cleverly created several false clues to make it appear that I had perished. Now all that was required was the deception of the officers and, regrettably, my friend. After they had appeared at the scene, and I was positive that they had no doubts about my fate, I would then continue the climb out of the chasm and vanish into the ever-growing world.

My plan did not work as I had intended. Watson and the officers came and were convinced that I was gone as I had planned for them to be. Then, something occurred that I could not believe. For once, I did not think everything through. I did not take into account that I was keeping my place holding a wet, mossy rock. Not paying attention to that, I slipped from my position and could not control the cry that emerged from within me. My hand caught an obtruding rock and I held on, desperate not to fall.

My cry had echoed enough to still be reverberating when I had calmed down after catching myself. Attracted by my unfortunate call, Watson peered over the edge. I looked up and his eyes wandered onto mine and his face lit up at the sight of me. This was a very predictable reaction of his, but it had completely turned my plan around.

"Holmes," he said softly, unbelievingly. The abyss around me echoed even hat slight sound. This was not the end, nor the worst of the matter. Suddenly a loud boom resonated throughout the chasm pierced my eardrums. Even with the pain ringing in my head, I could not flinch. I could not look away. Terror and unbelief filled my soul as I watched the best friend, indeed the only true friend, I had ever known, fall.

I risked a turn of my head, trying to find the source of the bullet, and had my answer. The gun was being held by Moriarty's right hand man, Colonel Moran. He had apparently come along as insurance for Moriarty, and his intent was clear. From where he was positioned, he had a clear shot of Watson and myself. By shooting Watson before killing me, Moran had accomplished the first part of his plan. I was afraid for my friend as he knew I would be. I had no knowledge of how badly he was hurt. Adrenaline and panic were pushing throughout my system and I had the natural flight reaction when a person faces danger; in this case, nearby gunfire. Undoubtedly my mind works with more ingenuity than the average man; therefore I was able to think this pressing situation through before Moran had chance even to aim and pull the deadly trigger again.

If, my mind quivered with the very thought, Watson was dead, there would e nothing to be gained by trying to get to him. The bullet may not have killed him, however, but in that scenario the officers that had moved on before the shot was fired would have heard the gun go off, come back, and be able to help him. The officers would cause Moran to make a retreat; he had no wish to go against that many adversaries. He would be waiting for me to follow them. The colonel would be sure that I would not be able to resist learning the condition of Doctor Watson. As much as I longed to do just that, my mind and common sense overpowered the desire that was in my spirit and I made my decision. I watched Moran scurry out of his hole like the rat he was and disappear into the brush that covered a natural bridge some yards from me. I heard voices getting louder as the officers came nearer and listened as the noise grew dimmer as they hurried back in the direction they had come from. It was a relief to begin moving from my quite uncomfortable position. My endurance was nearly extinguished. I made my way up and out of chasm. My original plan, obviously, had to be abandoned due to these dramatic events. I would have to leave as I had originally planned, but instead of simply living in a new country, I would have to be disguised. Moran and the two others would be scouring the world for me. The price of someone recognizing me would be far too high. My brother, Mycroft, would be useful in obtaining the necessary financial aid and disguises. Once again on solid ground, I looked in the direction the officers had taken Watson. There was a pang in my chest as I realized that I may never discover how much damage the bullet had caused. It was indeed an unforgettable moment in my life when I realized that I may never see my Boswell again. The sky was beginning to darken. Moran would not wait much longer for me to be close enough to mock before killing me. I took a deep breath. Then I turned and ran in the opposite direction of my friend. I didn't look back.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three- Watson

I was next aware of a low humming of voices surrounding me. Though I could not make out the words, I could place each voice with a name. The man speaking presently was my colleague, Doctor James Holder. In response to his words was Inspector Lestrade. The person to speak was Alexander Percy, who was an acquaintance of mine. In time, the humming changed into distinguishable words. When I could finally understand what was being said, the voice of Doctor Holder greeted me with these words,

"The anesthesia should wear off completely in a few moments."

I was, of course, the only one present who knew how conscious I was in reality. My mind became less hazy and I attempted opening my eyes. The lids were heavy like many weights, but I was determined to see what as around me. I succeeded in opening them and was almost immediately noticed by Lestrade.

"You were right, Doctor. There he is now."

Doctor Holder turned about to face me and checked my vital signs.

"Very good. You're as well as the circumstances will permit, Doctor Watson."

I opened my mouth to speak, but my mouth was too dry to form any words.

"Here" The doctor allowed me a sip of cool water. Though the quantity was small, it felt like a crystal clear falls running down my throat. This reminded me of what had happened.

"Holmes," I croaked out weakly. I knew I had seen him. I remembered the joy I had felt at seeing my friend alive. Alexander looked at me pityingly.

"You may not remember, Doctor," he said. "You hit your head very hard on a rock when you fell after you were shot. You have quite the concussion. Doctor, Holmes is dead." He said the final sentence very gently and softly. I knew that he was wrong.

"No." I forced myself to talk. "I saw him. He is alive." This time it was Lestrade who tried to convince me otherwise.

"Doctor, it is the truth." I shook my head. I could not believe it.

"You most likely dreamt that you saw him," Doctor Holder suggested. I thought about this possibility. I could have dreamt it. It would make since if I had. But as I considered this, I could not believe it. I did not feel as though he were dead. Something inside of me knew he was alive. That something was stronger than the thought that it was all just a dream. So I answered calmly,

"I do not believe that. I know I saw him. I know he is alive."

The three other men in the room looked at each other and Inspector Lestrade spoke to me.

"I know that the two of you were good friends, Doctor Watson." He said. It looked as if he were going to continue, however, the look on my face prompted Doctor Holder to say,

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but what Doctor Watson needs now is to rest and relax." He herded the other men out the door and then turned back to me. "A nurse will be in to check on you shortly," he smiled, "I trust that you know what to do if you need anything before she arrives." He exited out the door.

When they were gone, I gazed out the window across the room from the bed I was laying in. I knew Holmes was alive. But I wondered, if he is not here, then where could he be?


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four- Holmes

After the incident at Riechenbach, I travelled around the world, always in disguise. It was two years later, in the spring of 1893, when I finally returned to London. I gazed upon familiar sights and yet they did nothing for me save cause my heart to race faster as I neared my old home and the current home (I would hope for the best until I was proved otherwise) of my friend, Doctor John Watson, located at Number 221B Baker Street. Now that I was so close to discovering the truth of this mystery which had plagued me the past two years, I could barely resist the urge to rip off this silly costume and run to the apartments I had lodged in with Watson.

It was a strange mix of relief and anxiety when finally I reached the door to my home. I tried the knob on the door and it let me in. That enlightened me a great deal. Obviously Watson was still alive, for if he were not, the door would be locked. None other than my friend would have the door kept unlocked on this particular street. I entered into the hallway and was almost immediately met by a familiar face.

"Mr. Holmes!" cried the landlady.

"Miss Hudson," I greeted, although rather sharply. "Where is Doctor Watson?" She stared at me in astonishment.

"It's true." She whispered. "The good doctor was right." I was impatient, more so than usual. I knew I was alive, and I knew that Watson knew I was alive. All I required was seeing my friend alive and well with my own eyes. If, and I fervently hoped that it was not true, he was not entirely well, I would be more than willing to accept him simply being alive. My impatience overwhelmed me and I asked her again,

"Where is the doctor?" My voice was louder than it had been the previous time I had asked the question. The volume which I had spoken with apparently persuaded her attention to return to the present and out of the state of wonderment that she had been in since she had seen me.

"I'm afraid he's not here, sir." She said. "He's gone away for a long holiday. His physician told him not to tell anyone where he was going."

"His physician?" I questioned. The lady then proceeded to tell me that after he had been shot, he had fallen and received a severe concussion. When he awoke in the hospital, he swore that I was alive. He had never relinquished this belief, although he had been called crazy numerous times by many people. He had been seeing a doctor to help him through this alleged 'stage of grief', who had recommended to him to take a holiday away from everything acquainted with his life here in London. Only the doctor knew where Watson's destination was. He was the man I needed to talk to.

"Who is his physician, Miss Hudson?" I asked her.

"It's a Doctor Overton, Mr. Holmes." She answered me. "He has a private practice at Number 671D Cardinal Street."

"Thank you." With that, I turned, walked out the door, and headed out once again.

When I arrived at the address given to me, I proceeded to ask for Doctor Overton. When one of his nurses had summoned him to see me, I questioned him on the whereabouts of my friend. He, like poor Miss Hudson, was purely astonished by the reality which was me, here, and more importantly, here alive. He graciously revealed the location of my friend to me, a small town many miles from London. It would take until sometime the next day before I would arrive there. After thanking him, I took my leave. Calling a cab, I told the driver where I wished to go, and we took off.

Arriving at the hotel Watson was staying in, I went in and inquired about his room number to the gentleman seated at the front desk. Before he got the chance to answer, however, an elderly woman spoke up.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but did you say you were looking for Doctor Watson?" She hobbled over to use with the use of her cane. I noticed that it resembled the canes that were made exclusively in Germany.

"Yes, madam." I answered her. "Do you, by any chance, know where he might be at the moment?"

"Why, yes. He's been out near the lake all morning. Sitting on the bench near the water, barely saying a word."

"Could you please direct me to the lake, madam?" I asked courteously. She did just that, and I made my way to the water following her directions. When I spotted the lake, I scanned the shores for the bench in which Watson occupied. I became very anxious and excited when I finally saw him. He was sitting there, gazing in the direction of the deep, blue water. I had to take a deep breath to steady myself. I walked softly and slowly to the bench. He heard me approaching just as I came up beside him. He turned to look to see who was drawing near his peaceful place. When he saw who it was, his eyes grew wide.

"Holmes," he said quietly. "I knew it. I knew you were alive."

"Indeed, my dear Watson. That I am."

He motioned for me to sit down, never taking his eyes off of me, as if I would disappear lest he should look away. When I was seated, I spoke again to him

"How are you?" It was awkward for me to ask, and yet I could think of nothing else to say. He nodded his head as he answered.

"I've improved significantly since I came here. It was difficult for me for some time, but I have definitely had an easier time as of late. And now," he said, smiling again, "I imagine that with you back, my health will improve rapidly."

I did not especially wish to talk more about what had happened, but it seemed that I would not get my wish when he continued. His face had turned to one full of question.

"How are you back now?" His voice had lost its joviality. "Why did you not stay? I could understand a number of reasons why you did not stay in London, but since you did leave, why did you never send word to me? Surely you must have known that I saw you that day and knew you were alive." He paused to let me speak.

"My dear Watson," I said. "I cannot begin to tell you how very sorry I am. I did realize that you had seen me. I am ashamed to say that I left after acquiring knowledge of that fact, and the fact that you were injured." Before finishing my last sentence, I had to look away from him. I continued to tell that I had travelled the past two years in disguise, and about what had occurred to bring me here after I had returned to London. When I finished, I looked back at him and saw that he, too, had been facing away and towards the water.

"Holmes," he said, with a voice that plainly said he did not understand, "Why could you not write to me? You wrote to your brother. Am I less trustworthy than he?" He looked at me accusingly.

"John," I used his first name, a sign of how seriously I was taking this conversation, "I did not write to you for fear that you were not alive. Had you not been, the letter I sent to you might have been read by one of my enemies who would have then tracked me. I was also preoccupied with capturing those associates of Moriarty's. I wrote Mycroft only out of necessity. Let me assure you that I have spent the last two years battling with myself to write you and even to return to London. Be that as it may, I still owe you a thousand apologies for it. Would you do me the favor of forgiving me, even now, when I could deserve forgiveness no less?" I could not stop myself from hoping that he would pardon me. His gaze became softer and he assured me,

"You were already forgiven, Holmes. I forgave you for leaving quite some time ago. I knew there had to be a reason for it. As for not writing me, I believed that one of the things I must credit you for is knowing what is best for you to do in order to apprehend the felons you are pursuing. I trusted that there was an explanation other than you simply did not care. But I could not help but wonder as to the reason." He smiled at me. "But now that you are here, and we have sorted out this mess, I believe it is time to rediscover our friendship, which has undoubtedly missed out on a few things the past two years." The rest of the evening we talked peacefully together, just enjoying each other's company.


	5. Chapter 5

Part Four-Holmes-  
Returning to London

We made arrangements to return to London the following day. I made the preparations for a cab to pick us up. When our luggage was loaded and we were set, we took off for the long ride back to London. As Watson and I rode, we picked up the previous night's conversation where we had left off when we said good night. All in all, it was a peaceful, pleasant trip through the country, until about thirty minutes after we had set off. The cab came to an abrupt stop after we heard the all-too familiar sound of a gunshot echoing throughout the forest that surrounded us. The driver had apparently convulsed after his brain had registered the fact that he had been shot, and thus stopped the horses before falling off of his perch. My friend and I leapt out and immediately ran to his aid. Watson knelt down beside him and felt for a pulse in the man's throat.

"He's dead," the doctor pronounced.

"And the two of you will soon be joining him," a sneering voice said from behind us. I turned quickly to face Professor Moriarty's right hand man, Colonel Moran. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Watson slowing coming to a standing position once again. Moran had his gun pointed directly at me and he wore a cold, vile smile on his face. He pulled the trigger, and another shot rang out.

At the last possible second, I grabbed Watson's arm, dragging him down with me as I ducked. We quickly ran into the forest, using trees as shields as Moran's shots came dangerously close to ending our lives. With Watson's health as it was I was afraid that he would not be able to keep going for long. I was proved incorrect as he kept up with me; the adrenaline pumping through his veins was apparently plentiful enough to give him a fair chance of making it to safety. We kept running until the strangest thing happened. We heard a scream from behind, and we stopped to look at one another, stunned by the sound. It was an unspoken, mutual agreement that nothing good could be in the direction that we had come. We kept on in the same direction we had been running, hoping that civilization would be near.

Our hope was in futile, for when the sun set we were still hopelessly lost in these woods that were unfamiliar to us. That night, we slept propped up against trees, deciding that rest would be essential to keep hiking through this woodland the next day.


	6. Chapter 6

Part Five- Watson

The sunlight awoke us the next morning. We continued on, Holmes, with his vast knowledge of natural occurring signs of direction, leading our way. It was an especially arduous trek for me because of the injury that had yet to fully heal from two years past. My endurance prevailed, however, and I kept on, desperate to return to the society in which I belonged. We did not reach any break in the forest that day. That night, we settled down once again, this time in a small clearing, each of us eager to believe that tomorrow would bring the end to this adventure.

Before I fell asleep, I heard a large creature moving near us through the woods.

"Holmes," I whispered, trying to get his attention. He was already asleep. I got up and selected a rather large stick that was lying on the ground near me. I made my way carefully to the spot where I thought the sound had come from. When I reached it, there was nothing there. I looked around, squinting my eyes, trying to see better.

I heard the sound again and turned towards it. This time I saw something faintly in the darkness. It was close enough that I could strike it. With a cry, I threw myself in the direction of the being. I was surprised when I made contact with it and found that it had the distinct form of a man. When I realized this, I halted my attack and stood back to observe what I could of the manner of man that had come so unexpectedly near our makeshift campsite. It was an even greater astonishment when I realized that the man I had mistaken for a mere animal was Colonel Moran. The greatest amazement was when I saw the blood oozing from the many wounds on his body, from his torso to his legs. I had knocked him to the ground and h had yet to stand up or attempt to fend off his attacker. Perhaps it was my instincts as a physician, or perhaps it was simply my own nature that would not allow me to leave him lying there. I helped him up and led him back to the small clearing Holmes and I had occupied for the night.

I noticed that Holmes was now awake, alerted by the noise of earlier. His eyes grew round as he observed who the cause of the commotion was.

"What on earth is this?" he exclaimed. "Would you care to offer an explanation, Doctor?!" His voice was nearing rage. Calmly I explained to him,

"I heard him walking and thought him an animal. When I discovered it was in fact him, I also noticed that he was badly wounded. As a doctor, I cannot allow this man to go untreated." He did not look particularly pleased at this, but he knew me well enough to know that it was useless to argue. Doing what I could with crude rags torn from the sleeves of my shirt, I bandaged the worst of Moran's wounds. He had been barely conscious since I had encountered him a few moments. In a few moments after I had started ministering to him, he lost all of his awareness. The rest of the night I spent taking care of my new patient.


	7. Chapter 7

Part Six- Holmes

What Watson was thinking caring for that delinquent, I had absolutely no earthly idea. But, considering his commitment to the preservation of human life, and the fact that I did owe him, I did not protest too much at this. Besides, it would be better to have Moran here with us than having him still out there hunting us.

It was well past sunup when the wounded criminal awoke. He was coherent after a few seconds, and he gazed at his rescuer in wonder.

"How..." he said softly, his eyes large with amazement.

"I took the liberty of saving your life," my friend replied. I could barely control the smile that almost broke onto my face at his tone. Moran looked even more puzzled.

"Why?" he asked incredulously.

"Because you are, no matter how arguable some would consider this, a human being. All humans have the right to live, no matter what they've done. I saw no reason last night to leave you to die, as you were hardly able to walk, let alone be a threat to Mr. Holmes or myself." My friend briefly looked at his face, and then checked his vital signs. After finishing this task, Watson stood and took a more casual stance.

"Now, I believe that you are fit enough to tell us what happened to you." When my Boswell said this, Moran's face grew even paler and emotionless.

"You truly wish to know?" he questioned, his voice as expressionless as his face.

"I believe that is what my companion asked of you." I spoke up, not even trying to diminish the disdain I held in my heart for the man from pouring out of my voice. He looked at me, coldly at first, but then his expression softened and he began his tale.

"I had lost the both of you in these woods," he said. "While I was hunting for you, I came across another hunter. It was an enormous wolf. The biggest I have ever seen. It was already angry, and attacked me when I shot at it, but missed. It knocked me over and I lost my gun.  
We struggled on the ground for a time before I managed to throw it off of me. I regained my pistol and shot at the beast again, still missing. It knew what a gun was and how it was used. I managed to make it retreat, but I was badly wounded. I thought my only chance was civilization. I wandered by myself, and became very tired. The last thing I remember was being rammed into and falling to the ground. Then I awoke here." He finished his account and fell silent once again.

"So this beast of a wolf is still roaming these woods," I said.

"Yes. I'm afraid so." He looked right at me and suddenly I had a thought.

"Where is your pistol now?" I asked him.

"It is here," he said, taking it out of its hidden place within his vest. I immediately became rigid, ready to intervene at any attempt on his part to shoot the weapon at myself or my friend. To my utter amazement, he handed the gun to Watson.

"I no longer need this," he said. "It has one bullet left, and I regret ever trying to shoot either one of you with it." I did not believe this for a minute.

That night, Watson and Moran slept. I stayed awake the entire night, watching for the wolf and for any tricks of Moran's. When sunlight broke through the limbs of the trees, I was relieved that nothing of any great consequence had happened. Moran, when he awoke, was adamant that he was fit to tramp through these woods in search for the way out. Watson confirmed this, and we set out once again.

The next thing that happened, I remember quite clearly. We had been walking for most of the day, and just as we were about to embark on the task to find a suitable place to sleep that night, we heard a menacing growl from behind us. We turned to come face to face with none other than the wolf that had injured Moran so. It jumped at Moran, but Watson threw himself in front of the Colonel. They both went down, and I was there immediately trying to get the wolf off of him. It turned its attentions to me, but before I had had a chance to begin a good fight with it, a gunshot rang out. Apparently Watson had lost possession of it when he had either jumped in front of Moran, or when he and the wolf were battling on the ground. Moran had picked it up and had shot the beast when it attacked me. It dawned on me that one of my greatest enemies had just saved my life. The wolf was dead, and neither Watson nor I were seriously hurt.

"Thank you," my friend said.

"My pleasure," replied Moran. I could not will myself into being courteous enough to thank him as well.

"What are we waiting for?" I asked. "Let us continue." And so we did.


	8. Chapter 8

Part Seven- Holmes

We rested that night, but once again I could not sleep. I could not understand why Moran would do such a thing. He could have shot Watson or myself and fled so the wolf could finish us off. But he saved my life. Even with this new turn of events, I did trust the man. And yet, at the same time, it did seem that he had changed his ways. I would be vigilant in my observations of him. I must figure this problem out.

Miracles of miracles happened the subsequent day. As we were walking as we had been the last four days, we came upon a pair of hunters. They saw us, and immediately came to our aid. Watson explained what had occurred to them, and they listened intensely.

"Would you two gentlemen be so kind as to direct us to the nearest hotel?" I asked them. A cab could be called at a hotel, and we would be able to obtain the necessary nourishment that we had lived the past few days without. There had been wild berries and occasional small bodies of water, but they did not make our stomachs content. They gave us directions, and just as I was about to thank them and head on our way so we were not disturbing their hunting plans, Moran suddenly leapt forward, knocking one hunter with a gun already loaded and ready in his hands to the ground. He grabbed the gun from the gentleman, and stood back up, pointing the gun at us.

"Ha!" He exclaimed. "Now I can finally have my revenge on you, Sherlock Holmes, for killing Professor Moriarty! I can get out of this stinking forest and return to live a life of luxury!"


	9. Chapter 9

He pulled the trigger, my reflexes performing slowly as this was certainly unexpected. I had begun to think that because Moran had saved my life, he had changed. That inkling of a belief caused me to be able to do nothing but stand there and wait for the bullet that would have assuredly ended my life. But, Watson, who had been standing just a few inches from me, jumped and pulled me down, and a not a minute too late. The hunter that Moran had knocked down kicked the conniving criminal just behind the knees. Moran fell and the hunter retrieved his gun and pointed it at the dastardly villain. Watson and I stood back up and I smiled down at Moran, very pleased that my first assumptions had not been wrong. There was, however, a small thought tugging at the back of my mind telling me that if I were really all that clever, I would have seen through Moran's cleverly conceived plan.

"Well, Moran," I said, gloating. "It seems that you won't be able to avenge the old professor now, will you?" I asked the two gentlemen that had come to our aid if they would mind accompanying us back to the hotel they had mentioned. When there, Moran was sent off to prison to await trial and Watson and I finally got a cab all the way back to London.

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I can't believe I'm almost done with this. In case you didn't know by now, I totally rewrote this, changed a few details… I hope you like this version, and if you don't, sorry, but I've lost the other one. Review, please, but please try not to be too harsh…


	10. Chapter 10

Moran's POV

Anger pulsated throughout my entire body. Immense frustration and disappoint clouded my mind as I sat in the tiny holding cell, awaiting a trial. Above all else, I felt the overwhelming urge to strangle Sherlock Holmes to death. I wanted to cause him bodily harm with such emotion, that in a brief moment of lost composure, I leapt up from the bunk and slammed my fist against the wall. The pain now reverberating throughout my hand was, in a small way, satisfying. I just wished that the wall had been Holmes' face. If he were but a few feet from me....

Of course I knew it was my own stupidity that had caused me to fail. I had been so close, so agonizingly close, and with one minute mistake, I had lost it all.

It was a cleverly conceived plan, I had to admit that to myself, for no other reason than to keep my sanity. From that day at Reichenbach Falls, when Doctor Watson fell due to my marksmanship, I had been sure of success. Sure of the fact that soon I would avenge the great Professor Moriarty. When Holmes ruined my original plan by running away like the coward he was, I changed tactics. I scoured the world for him, that insolent man who thought himself the better of Professor Moriarty.

Though I did not find him in the far corners of the earth, it was by far more convient when one of my associates brought word of his return and his quest to seek out the doctor. I had felt triumphant once again for a brief moment once I had caught up with them before they ran into that accursed forest. When I discovered their makeshift camp, my brilliant mind, second only to Moriarty's, brought forth another plan, this one more clever by far than any of the previous. I would gain Holmes' trust, and at the opportune moment, seize my chance to avenge the legendary Moriarty. I thought I had done just that when I acquired the gun of that baffoon of a hunter. The anger I felt already doubled when I reluctantly thought of how Holmes defeated me once again. Now I was here. And, most assuredly, I would never set foot outside of prison walls again.

All thanks to that blasted Holmes....

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Thank you all for your reviews. I think one more chapter will close this one up for good.... A special thanks to Annie London for helping me with this chapter and the one to come.... Review please!


	11. Chapter 11

I only have one thing to say to the year I've gone without updating this final installment: Oops. As I try to be honest about NEARLY everything, I must admit that the reason for not posting the final chapter for so long is quite simple: I forgot. Please forgive me, for I am not without faults. I do, however, hope that you enjoy this FINAL chapter of An Accidental Cry.

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Chapter 11

Both men were utterly exhausted. The memories of the past few days took a back seat in their minds as they relished the comfort of their home. Holmes sat in his chair, smoking his pipe, his eyes closed. Watson might have thought asleep after a while if his friend had not begun to speak.

"Watson," he began softly. The doctor turned his head in the direction of his friend. "I think I'll give up smoking." The pipe remained in his mouth. Watson raised an eyebrow, unbelieving.

"You think so?" He questioned.

"Yes. Yes, I do think so. You yourself have told me many times how bad this habit is for my health." The pipe still stayed between the detective's lips. Watson smiled wryly.

"Indeed it is, Holmes. But you've never heeded my advice before." He said this with a tone of accusation in his voice.

"Poor judgment on my part, old fellow." This time, both eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. Before he could say anything, the detective continued, softer this time, "And not the first time my judgment has been less than satisfactory." Watson, of course, knew what his friend was trying to say, and hastily prepared to correct him.

"No one is perfect. Not even you. Besides, whether your judgment was wrong or not would not have prevented most of what happened anyway." There. The ball was rolling; he just hoped Holmes would pick it up so they could get this all out of the way.

"I do not believe that. If I had," But here he was cut short by Watson, how interjected forcefully,

"If doesn't help anyone. If doesn't exist. There's no use in dwelling in what might have been. What happened happened, and no one, not even you, can change that. And no one blames you for it. No one besides yourself. We were victims of circumstance, Holmes, and you are a main reason we're here now to talk about it. So no more of this. Do you understand me?" He waited in silence for a few long moments before his friend's head bobbed once in response.

"Now, I believe it's time for me to retire to bed." He got up and headed towards the door that would take him to his bedroom. As he turned to say good night, he did not fail to notice the smile on his friend's lips just before he thrust his pipe into the fire. Shaking his head and with a satisfied smile, he muttered, "Good night, old friend." Things were going to be just fine.

After Watson had exited, Holmes relished in the peace he was feeling. A great weight had been lifted with his friend's words. He would, of course, always have his doubts about his part in the course of action that had taken place, but he wouldn't be consumed by guilt. Watson was fine, they were both home safe and sound. When his hand released his once-precious object into the fire, he had a thought.

This was just one example of the changes to come. Life would not continue as it had before the events of the past few days. Holmes would do everything in his power to improve his own condition of living and to ease the burden of constant fret over the detective's lifestyle. With this resolution settled deep within him, he raised himself out of the chair and headed to his own room. As he passed Watson's closed door, he thought to himself,

"Just wait, old fellow. The morning indeed brings a new dawn."

THE END

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Reviews are greatly appreciated by this very repentant author.


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